


fire

by Waywarder



Series: Simply Having an Ineffable Christmastime [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables, A lil' angst, Christmas Fluff, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), sweet nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21683302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywarder/pseuds/Waywarder
Summary: In which Aziraphale teaches Crowley about a Christmas tradition.Part of Drawlight's 31 Days of Ineffables challenge!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Simply Having an Ineffable Christmastime [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558789
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	fire

Crowley’s nightmares were always the same. The bookshop was on fire, and Aziraphale was nowhere to be found.

“ _Aziraphale!_ ” he cried out into the near-dark, nearly flinging himself from the bed that his sleep-foggy brain did not immediately recognize. It didn’t matter where he was. It didn’t matter what was coming. _Find Aziraphale._

“Crowley? Goodness, my dear, are you alright?”

He was there. Aziraphale, sitting up in his bed in the room above the bookshop. Those silly glasses perched on his nose, a book in his lap. Only candlelight illuminated the concern on his beautiful face. Relief did not so much flood through Crowley’s being as nearly knock him over like a tidal wave. 

Crowley sucked in a deep breath, reminding himself of what was real. They had gone to the ballet, had returned to the bookshop that still stood, he’d fallen asleep in Aziraphale’s bed, and Aziraphale must have stayed up to read.

By candlelight.

A sharp jolt of fury flipped through Crowley. He marched forward and hastily put the candle out, and the room quickly faded into a more complete darkness. Even then Crowley didn’t dare lie back down. Didn’t dare sit. He stood at attention, every muscle tensed, prepared to prowl the perimeter of the room all night if it meant that Aziraphale was safe. 

There was a rustle of blankets, the shutting of a book, and then just the softest of sounds to indicate that Aziraphale’s feet had found the floor. And then there were two arms wrapped around Crowley’s rigid, terrified body. 

“Ngk,” was all Crowley managed, his arms still locked by his side.

“I know, darling,” Aziraphale murmured into his neck, holding him so surely. 

_But you don’t know,_ Crowley wanted to scream. _You weren’t there, angel. That’s the problem._

They stood like that for a while in the dark, Aziraphale embracing a near-frozen Crowley. 

“Do you know about the human Christmas tradition of placing candles in one’s window?” Aziraphale finally asked. 

Crowley shook his head, afraid of what nonsense would come out of his mouth if he opened it. 

“Well, of course it varies across different cultures, and has been around for quite some time,” Aziraphale explained. “But what it all really seems to come down to, no matter who you are or what you believe, is that a candle in the window is sort of a signal of an invitation.”

“That’s nice,” Crowley muttered lamely.

Aziraphale pulled away then, and moved back toward his bedside table. Crowley heard him pick something up.

“May I, Crowley?” 

_It’s just a stupid candle._ Crowley thought, furiously. _You can keep him safe from a stupid candle._

_Except for when you didn’t._

“Aziraphale…” Crowley mentally swore over how heavy his voice sounded. At how close to tears he was. 

He heard Aziraphale set the candle back down. Heard him step back towards Crowley. This time the angel took both of his hands, and brought them to his heart, rubbing his thumbs soothingly over Crowley’s knuckles.

“The candle in the window,” Aziraphale continued, softly. “It meant that your home was open to recieving visitors, you know.”

And then Aziraphale took a long, slow breath.

“It was also meant to light the way for returning members of your family.” 

_Family._ It’s not a word he was expecting, and it landed on him at an odd, sharp angle. Crowley hadn’t ever been a part of a family, not really. Heaven had cast him out, and Hell… well, sort of says it all, doesn’t it? 

He had dared over the centuries to dream up a million words to apply to Aziraphale. Colleague, associate, friend, best friend, lover, partner…

Was Aziraphale his _family?_

“I…” Aziraphale must have recognized the weight of the word as well, for he spoke cautiously. “I hope I’m not being too forward in this, Crowley, but… well, my point is rather that I will always have a candle lit in my window for you. This is your home whenever you wish to call it so, and I will be your family should you--”

But Crowley had rushed forward then, and pulled Aziraphale to him so fiercely that the angel yelped a little in surprise.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed. “Angel of the Eastern Gate. My home is wherever you are, and,” (because he realized it not as he spoke), “We’re both idiots, because I think we’ve been each other’s family for a long time, and just haven’t talked about it. Can we STOP DOING THAT, by the way?”

And Aziraphale laughed at that, which was good, Crowley thought, because maybe it masked the noise of him finally finally crying. Oh, but then Aziraphale started crying too, because of course he was. And Crowley still held Aziraphale, but the ferocity faded. Because he knew, finally finally finally, that Aziraphale wasn’t going anywhere. 

Or rather, if he did…

“I’ll light a candle in the window for you too, you know,” Crowley said against Aziraphale’s face. “But I’m getting a fucking _electric one._ ”

And the angel laughed again. Because it was December 5, and Crowley and Aziraphale were a family.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! (Guys, I love them so much.)


End file.
